


I Don't Know Where

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Home, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-09
Updated: 2010-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They took her cracked ceiling, finicky pipes and nearly non-existent A/C and made her feel lived in. A home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Know Where

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for [](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**comment_fic**](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/) @ [HERE](http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/174370.html?thread=37672738%20-%20t37672738). Every detail here has a story, if only in my head. Set POST 5.22 but no spoilers.

  
The motel room is peacefully, empty. She houses no consciousnesses, her temporary tenants gone.

Two canvas duffels are stashed on one bed, who's sheets have been shoved to the foot, falling off and down in a cascade of white.

The other bed is buried in paper- old scraps of newspaper articles, computer print outs. Hastily scribbled notes. A picture of two smiling faces between a confused one and another rolling eyes skyward.

A pair of socks crumpled and stiff lay where they fell at the foot of a bed, one nearly in a ball as the other stretched languorously out. The boxers next to it had a winking 70s smiley face plastered obscenely over the crotch.

The trash was stuffed full of take out wrappers from the diner down the street, old soda cups and a half eaten Danish that looked to have been smushed underneath something. An empty bag of salt peaked out from the bottom.

A neat line of beer bottles stood tall in formation next to it, glowing in the neon light from the sign outside the window. Dancing greens and blues splashed with vibrant reds shone out like the Northern Lights.

In the bathroom, towels were kicked to the sidelines, lying in cheerful piles of aquatic blue. One washcloth was leaving a chilling puddle where it stretched forlornly over the side of the shower.

Toothpaste was smeared over the mirror in a lopsided, crooked heart. Eyes had been added in bright pink, the incriminating tubes lying one across the other, twisted viciously in their middles. One was missing it's cap, the label proclaiming bubblegum in bright pink letters. Three of the toothbrushes in the holder were used, one with a smudge of chocolate near the handle. The fourth sat untouched (a nice navy blue with trains running the handle).

The room didn't mind her odd patrons. They took her cracked ceiling, finicky pipes and nearly non-existent AC and made her feel lived in. Loved. A home.

And when all four appeared from nowhere in a panting, breathless pile on her floor, she loved them. As they lay in shock, her lights got a little bit clearer. When the shortest let out a puff of disbelieving laughter and remarked, "That should _never_ have worked," the squeaky latch of the door got a little quieter. When the tallest started to laugh with him, the scuffs on her wall paper got a little less noticeable. As the other two joined in, the fan started working just a little bit harder.

She might not have been a house with a yard, but that's fine. She was all they needed right now.


End file.
